


Sherlock Holmes And the Consulting Exorcist

by NikaAnuk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Exorcism, Ghosts, I'm not sure if I should do this..., Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Slash, Supernatural - Freeform, exorcist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikaAnuk/pseuds/NikaAnuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, what about John being an exorcist send back from mission in Afghanistan and meeting Sherlock Holmes - a young magician? And what if Sherlock is very nosy and getting himself into troubles?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of the first part. I hope to finish it but we will see. Thanks to my beta I can show you this without a shame but still, remember that English is not my native and I really try to do this right, okay? Well. Enjoy (I hope so)

Screams and hands. Eternity buried in bodies, dark clouds and the sky that does not exist anymore. John tried to catch his breath but there were bugs and mud in his lungs. There was only death.  
Blue eyes snapped oped. He was sitting on his bed, panting in need for air. He fell down onto the bed wiping sweat from his forehead. The worst part was that this was actually not a dream, John never had nightmares, he used to have visions, now he just saw the truth. And the truth was ugly.  
He got up from his bed and went to the bathroom. Cool water against his skin maked him sigh in relief. Unfortunately water could not wash off the memories of his journey, they would be there – in his head - remainding him of how much his life was worth.  
It was barely 7 am when he sat down at the table with a mug on his side switching on his laptop. He had work to do for the bishop; his visions, dreams – it was never the truth for the church – should been written down and send to the bishop's secretary. Normally he used to walk around different parts of Hell – or whatever this place was – but lately it was this one place all the time: hills made of bodies, hands reaching up to the clouds, rain smelling like oil and in one moment there were those eyes.  
John frowned trying to remember if he saw them tonight. Yes, an oddly coloured eye visible between the arms and bodies. The eye which could actually see. He never mentioned this to the bishop. It was nothing special. He saw a lot of hands and eyes so why mentioned that one?  
Word's page was still empty. John had no idea what he was supposed to write about. I've been dreaming about the same things as usual was the only thing he had on his mind and the bishop would not be pleased.  
Eventually he gave up and closed the laptop. He needed to leave this place, his flat – one room, small kitchen and bathroom in which one hardly could fit a shower and a toilet – breath in some fresh air, maybe drink some good coffee...

With a paper cup in his hand John walked slowly down the street supporting him with his cane. The coffee was not good but he did not drink it anyway. He bought it only because it seemed right to do so. He stopped by a shop window and looked at himself pretending that he was interested in a new bike. The cane did not suit him and the hand holding the cup looked so weak... His jumper was crumpled and he definitely should have shaved this morning. But does anyone care anyway?  
„John!? John Watson!?” He heard behind him. „I can't believe it's you! I didn't know you're back!”  
John turned around and raised his eyebrows before he recognized Mike Stamford.  
„You’re still here?” John asked with a weak smile. It was a long time since he had spoken with someone from 'old times'.  
„Look at me! Where else could I be?” Mike laughed pointing at his belly. „But you? I've heard they send you out!”  
„And then they send me back” said John. „I've got injuried.”  
Mike nodded looking at his old friend.  
„Yeah, I've heard something about it. Afghanistan, right?”  
John looked away for a short moment because it still hurt.  
„Yeah” he answered eventually. „Anyway, what are you doing?”  
„Same as always” Mike turned around and started to walk, John followed him slowly. „Better tell me about yourself.”  
John sighed. „There is nothing to talk about. Nothing happened to me since I came back, not that I’m complaining. They are calling sometimes when they want visions, but it's nothing special.”  
„I imagine you lack money...” Mike said with a strange smile.  
„I have enough to live on, why?”  
This was John's worst feature: curiosity. Because of it he once started to follow hints he found in his dreams and ended up like this: lonely, injured and haunted.  
Mike's smile broadened.  
„I know someone who needs an exorcist's help. And as I know he can pay you well.”  
„No” John shook his head. „I'm not doing this anymore, not after Afghanistan.”  
„No, no!” Mike looked at him. „He doesn’t need an exorcism. He needs... knowledge. We spoke yesterday you see and he told me he needed someone who had experience to ask him a couple of questions. And now, I'm meeting you” he smiled „For me it looks like fate!”  
John thought for a moment. He was useless without full dexterity but maybe he could be... a consultant for someone who needed this?  
„Can I see him?” he asked blaming his curiosity again.  
Mike laughed.  
„We can go there even now! He should be at Barts.”  
John frowned.  
„Is he a healer?”  
„Um... No. More likely he's a freelancer but I've heard that sometimes he works for someone.” Mike turned in the direction of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. „It's really hard to say much more about him.” he admitted and smiled apologetically.

Last time John was at Barts he had just come back from Afghanistan and he could only stare at the white wall still immersed in pain. Now the hospital looked for him as a more pleasant place. They walked to the second floor – John did not use the lift even now – and walked to one of the theoretically empty laboratories.  
There was one man – young, dark haired, with something strange in his aura, something not quite good. His sleeves were rolled up and he was busy with a microscope.  
„Come here and look at it” he said reaching in their direction.  
Mike smiled shrugging.  
„I didn't take my other glasses” he said apologetically.  
John raised his eyebrows but walked to the young man and looked at the sample under the microscope. He frowned and matched focus.  
„Beast's hair” he raised his gaze at the young man. „It's a sample taken from one of the fire Beasts, where did you find it? It doesn't look like it was found in our world.”  
The strange man smiled at him.  
„Brilliant but completely wrong” he said and replace John at the microscope.  
John looked at Mike helpless but the man only shrugged.  
„I'm sorry?” he asked.  
„I did not take this from a real Beast” the man explained. „It only looks like that but it is absolutely false. You were right, if it belonged to a real one the sample would be slightly burnt the moment the Beast came into our world but it is perfectly fine. If you looked closer you would probably noticed the dust... No, it is not from a real Beast. What a shame.” He sighed and stood up reaching for his coat. „So as I said you would be right if you were not wrong. But you can still work with me.” He smiled at him and passed by to walk away.  
John gasped.  
„Wait a minute!” he stopped him at the doorway. „How do you know I want to work with you?”  
„That is obvious” The man turned around. „Yesterday I told Mike I needed an exorcist and the next day you are here.”  
John nodded. That was fair enough.  
„But I'm not working with a total stranger so...” he tried but the man in door wrinkled his nose impatiently.  
„You are John Watson, an exorcist or should I say an ex-exorcist, you come from London, currently unemployed or at least without a 'proper' employment. You were badly injured during a mission in Afghanistan, send back home after two months. They said it was your arm but you act like it was your leg. Obviously post-dramatic stress disorder. You do not sleep well, bad memories probably, you feel guilty because you were send back and your friends died there.”  
John was stunned. This man seemed to know everything but it was not what surprised John. Those eyes. He knew those eyes. He saw them in his visions, this odd mix of blue, gray and green. He shook his head and the man was gone. Mike got up from his chair.  
„Sherlock Holmes, 221 B Baker Street. He wanted me to tell you” he smiled at him. „Tomorrow at 2 pm.”  
John nodded and left the laboratory with Mike. He said 'goodbye' and went back to his flat, still very surprised. 

The next day when John knocked at the door he was sure that he would live there, with this mad man. He saw hills again that night. Hills made of bodies, and blood and he saw those eyes again. Not green, not blue, not even gray. He saw them again and when he woke up he made a decision – he would stay with him.  
The door was answered by a short gray-haired lady – a witch obviously – John smiled.  
„Good morning, I'm...”  
„John Watson!” he heard from behind. When he turned he saw Sherlock. „Mrs. Hudson this is the man I have told you about. John, this is our landlady, come quickly!”  
Before John could say anything, Sherlock grabbed his arm and pulled him upstairs to the flat, not even caring about John's leg.  
The second John entered the living room he felt his skin crawling. He hissed, trying to move back but Sherlock was still holding him.  
„For God's... sake!” John said. „What do you have in here?”  
When the first wave of pain passed John looked around. There were books, amulets and even artefacts laying everywhere. John gasped.  
„What...”  
Sherlock was talking but John did not listen to him. In this messy room there were a lot of objects laying one next to another and threating that the whole place would blow up.  
„Wait” he said but Holmes did not listen, talking about the bedroom upstairs and tyiding up. „Sherlock!” finally the taller man shut up and looked at John. „Do you have the slightest idea what these things are?”  
„Artefacts obviously” Sherlock answered shrugging offended.  
„And do you know what to do with them?”  
„Not at all.” Sherlock smiled. „But you are here, right?”  
John shook his head and slowly walked around the room, trying not to cross any line.”Where do you have them from?” he asked curiously because most of them should have been destroyed.  
„I got them” Sherlock shrugged again.  
„And the skull?” John stopped by one of the shelves. Book shelves were covering up three walls. The skull was laying dangerously close to the first ever published book on new necromancy.  
„A friend of mine. His name was Victor, he was my first necromancy experiment.”  
John shook his head and went to the kitchen full of vials, ingredients and ready-made potions. „How often...” John leaned over one of the mixtures but immediately straight up. „do you make those experiments?” he asked looking around.  
„All the time. I am in the middle of another right now.” Sherlock said from the living room. „It is in the fridge.”  
John opened the fridge - there, on the second shelf, was a human head. And John hissed when he felt evil around it.  
„Did you know” he heard from behind. „That talking with a head that still has flesh on is harder?”  
„Yeah, the spell has to overcome the decay” John nodded closing the fridge. „But I'm pretty sure you shouldn't talk to this particular dead head.” He said turning around to face Sherlock. „Anyway, how did you know everything about me? Is this your gift or something?”  
Holmes shook his head, his hands already busy with another 'experiment'. „My brother used to say that my only gift is getting into trouble. I have deduced it.”  
„How?” John crossed his arms leaning against the fridge.  
„You had to be an exorcist because I asked Mike for one. You looked like someone tired, bags under your eyes suggested you do not sleep well, maybe visions, maybe memories. You are injured – you have a cane but you did not ask for a chair when you came in so it is not the matter, there must be something more. You must be good otherwise Mike would not bring you to me. Afghanistan then. Only two people survived it, Watson and Collins but Collins was black so you had to be Watson. Easy one.”  
John blinked but smiled.  
„Alright... But you could only see my picture I know there were few and as we both know, everyone knows about Afghanistan. Anything else?”  
Sherlock hesitated. „You will not like it” he said slowly.  
John chuckled amused by this strange man. „Try me.”  
Sherlock took a deep breath. „You blame church for what happened in Afghanistan, that destroyed your faith, you do not want to work anymore so you live from a pension. Some of your relatives are alive, probably a brother, more likely an older brother but you still live alone. You came back, you try to stay sane so there must be someone but a mother or a sister would take care of you and judging from your clothes you are alone; if it was a younger sibling you would try to heal yourself to help them. So an older brother. You cannot sleep but it does not concern you, you are used to it, there must be something in your dreams you wait for, you look for.”  
„They're not dreams.” John interrupted. „It's the truth, Sherlock. You have to learn to accept the truth even if it's painful.”  
Sherlock nodded. „So? How am I doing?”  
„Amazing” John admitted sincerely. „But you've made one mistake. I don't have a brother.”  
Sherlock frowned and thought for a moment. „Then... Your sister must be or was possessed, you have lost her.” Sherlock's eyes widened. „Of course! You have become an exorcist because your sister was possessed and they could not help her. She got lost so they put her in Angelo's. You wanted to help her so you went to Afghanistan. Now you are sure you have failed.”  
This time John did not smile. Bitting his lower lip he nodded slowly. „She was stupid enough to summon a ghost. They performed an exorcism but she wasn't there at the time, probably she ran away from the pain.”  
„What makes you so sure her soul was not eaten by now? Why are you still looking for her?” Sherlock asked curious.  
„Hope.” John looked away. But after a short time he smiled lightly at Sherlock. „Anyway, that was brilliant, you know?”  
Holmes dropped his head embarrassed, he turned around and put the kettle on.  
„What's wrong?” John asked worried.  
„That is not what people usually say” Sherlock admitted.  
„And what do they usually say?”  
„Piss off.”  
John laughed and after a second Sherlock started to giggle too.  
„Fancy a cup?” he asked with a smile.  
„Sure.”


	2. II. Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a bit late but finally here.

There was this spell... This one he could not remind. The spell which could save his life...  
Whose?  
The window and the scene behind it was the hint but John could not focused on the view. There was this spell he could not remember. John cried helplessly because the magic around the two men in the other room was growing and soon it would be too late. He clenched his fists and hit the wall. The spell! This one bloody spell!  
Shelf!  
He remembered on which self the book with the spell was placed. Sherlock's flat! He opened his eyes.  
Sherlock's flat.  
His room was full of dim yellow light from the street lamps. He looked around his new bedroom – full of boxes in which Sherlock agreed to keep the most dangerous objects – his clothes left on the back of the chair, his cane left next to the bed.  
The flat was silent but not dead, quiet music from neighbour's flat, the sound of boiling water from downstairs, a single car driving along the street.  
Shelf!  
John got up and hurried to the living room, not taking his cane, not even thinking of putting his t-shirt on.  
Light came from the kitchen but Sherlock was sitting by an open window in the living room with some plant in front of him – lately he gave up necromancy and - with John's help - started with antidotes which were only an excuse for poisons.  
John ignored him and came to the shelf. The spell was written in the book which was just... Not here. He frowned biting his lower lip.  
The book was not here... yet.  
„John?” Sherlock watched him carefully for the whole time. „I have made tea for you, you had nightmares again.”  
John nodded, slowly understanding what just happened. He did not have visions for years – people say that they come and go when you are a teenager – and he was more then surprised because of this one.  
He looked at his flatmate.  
Tea. Sherlock made him tea. Living with Sherlock Holmes for a week now, he had learnt that Sherlock rarely thought about someone's mood. Mostly he was too focused on his 'experiments' - but John thought that Sherlock simply just did not cared about people, at least not about those who could not help him.  
He looked at him.  
„Tea? Why would you make me tea?” he asked getting closer to the young man. „What is this experiment about?”  
„You cannot sleep again so I thought you can drink it” he showed little vial full of white liquid. „Not all of this, of course and not without your tea, I believe this is not very tasty. I have planned to give this to Mrs. Hudson but since you are awake...”  
„Sherlock, what have I told you about testing potions on Mrs. Hudson?!”  
The woman like a mother was for them and Sherlock used her good heart all the time.  
„But you also said I cannot test it on myself” the young man sulked.  
„Because you could kill yourself? What is that anyway?”  
Now Sherlock grinned, it did not matter how angry John was, there was this moment when he started asking 'what?', 'how?', 'when?' and then Sherlock became a star in this one-man-show.  
„A sleep potion I have found in an old book I had received yesterday. It is brilliant because if only you have a virgin and a full moon you don't need to wait!”  
„Received from who?”  
„An old friend of mine” Sherlock shrugged. „So, will you drink it?”  
John sighed. Everything in him protested but he found himself helpless when it came to those eyes. He took the book laying on the table and read the recipe. It did not look dangerous so he nodded. Sherlock grinned – not like he was surprised – he jumped to his feet and hurried to the kitchen. John followed him looking at the shelf once again.  
The book was not there _yet_. So he had visions again.  
After Sherlock's potion John came back to his bedroom and lay down. He fell asleep immediately while Sherlock sat down on the chair and watched him carefully taking mental notes about his state. John did not have another vision nor a journey nor a dream.  
He woke up to see those eyes very close, haunting him even in reality.  
„Sherlock?” John sat up suddenly. „What...?”  
The man straightened, he was wearing his coat and scarf already.  
Usually he was leaving the flat without a word and coming back when he wanted but this time he was still here and it was pretty late judging by the sunlight.  
„Come on, John, there is work for us!” He started to pick John's clothes.  
„There is... what?” John rubbed his eyes. „I don't... Wait, what time is it?”  
„Nine o'clock. We have to repeat our experiment.”  
John got up and stared at Sherlock with consternation before Holmes threw him his jeans. He looked with interest at the jumper he was holding.  
„Sherlock?” John zipped his trousers. „What's wrong with my jumper?”  
„It it covered with spells...”  
„No, it's not!”  
„Never mind, get up, we are leaving!” he handed the jumper to John and went out of the room.  
Finally John got himself ready and joined Sherlock downstairs. The young mage was standing by the window watching something outside.  
„So, what happened?” John asked still a bit sleepy.  
„Witchcraft!” Sherlock turned around with a huge grin.  
John did not ask, he was well aware that strange things made Sherlock happy. He just took a deep breath and followed Sherlock.  
This was the first time they were going out together, John wanted to be a good use for Sherlock – he moved in with him to help him but he had not had a chance until now, except of cleaning his living room – but he was still confused because of the strange potion Sherlock gave him yesterday.  
John shook his head. Why did he do that anyway? Because John had another nightmare... A vision. A book and a spell, and this certainty that Sherlock was in danger.  
„So, how are you?” Sherlock asked when they got in the cab.  
„Me?” Watson looked at him with surprise.  
„Yes, you received strong potion yesterday which might not totally comply with the recipe. I am curios what effects it has on you.”  
John frowned not sure if he was more angry or surprised by his surprise.  
„I'm still dizzy, I don't remember everything, not in proper order and I don't think even second brushing of my teeth could take away this taste.”  
Sherlock nodded with content.  
„Good, that means you did not lose your taste and that we can repeat the experiment later.”  
John shook his head with a sigh, there was no reason to argue with Sherlock, besides if he asked, John would agree to do this again, so he shut up and looked out of the window.  
Finally he felt better. They were going through the district full of big old houses. There was no one who would like to live here – houses were for sale and probably soon someone would build a new shopping centre here.  
„What witchcraft were you talking about?” John asked looking at Sherlock.  
The younger man smiled.  
„Lestrade finally called me. That means there is something weird in his case. But I do not have any more informations at the moment. I do not like someone to tell me what had happened.”  
„Okay but what are you going to do there anyway, Sherlock? Isn't this a case for the police?”  
„The police cannot help itself so they need me. I am helping them to solve crimes they do not understand. Lestrade is quite bad at it so he needs me almost all the time.”  
„What is this case about anyway?”  
„Three suicides or murders looking like suicides, you had read about it in the newspapers. I am almost certain that someone has killed those people and when we get there today I will prove my point.”  
John nodded because yes, he had read about the case. Before he could ask another question the cab stopped and they got out. John looked around with interest seeing one of old buildings but Sherlock grabbed his hand and led him inside.  
A dark haired woman stood in a doorway, she winced when she saw them and John felt as Sherlock's grip tightened around his fingers but he remained calm, nothing changed in his posture.  
„Who is he?” The woman asked looking at John.  
„Doctor John Watson. He is with me” Sherlock answered letting John's hand slip out of his grip and coming inside.  
„He can't go.” She shrugged. “I know you think this is your playground, freak, but you can't bring friends with you.”  
John clenched his jaw and Holmes turned around and pointed at her with his long finger.  
“As far as I remember you are not the one who can order me, Donovan. So shut up. John, come.”  
Looking at her one more time John followed Sherlock. The mage stopped for a moment to check the windowsill on the ground floor.  
“You don't like each other?” John asked standing next to Sherlock.  
“Not at all, she is an idiot, she thinks that what I am doing is a game.” Holmes walked upstairs watching every step carefully.  
“But you're doing the same” John walked after him.  
Sherlock turned around to look at him.  
“What?”  
“Sherlock” John took five steps so he was standing over Sherlock. “I've never met a person who would play with such dangerous things like magic and potions more then you” he admitted with a smile. “So don't tell me _she_ is the one who isn't serious about this stuff.” Holmes snorted and passed John going upstairs.  
In the room on the first floor a man waited for them– long coat, grey hair and lines of tiredness around his eyes and mouth told John that he was a man of duty. He stopped in the doorway and nodded to him.  
“Sherlock? Who is he?” Policeman looked at Sherlock who was already busy with the corpse.  
“Doctor John Watson, he is helping me” he murmured knelling down next to the body.  
“Um... Nice to meet you” John smiled and walked in carefully.  
“Hello, I'm Lestrade, detective inspector. Are you a pathologist?”  
“No, he is here to help me with the magic stuff” Sherlock answered examining the body.  
Lestrade turned his head to him.  
“And do we have here some of it? I mean... is this magic?” he pointed at the body.  
“Leave.” Sherlock only said not looked at him. “John, take a look, will you?”  
“You have five minutes” DI warned them stepping out of the room and closing the door.  
John came closer to Sherlock, the woman was lying face down, there was no blood and also no weapon; she was dressed in a pink coat and even her hair did not look messy. He knelt opposite Sherlock.  
“Why exactly do you think this is not a suicide?” John asked looking at Sherlock.  
“John” The mage sighed. “If this is third one in a row in the last three months then there must be something more, don't you think?”  
“Yes but we have no proof.”  
“We will in a few minutes. Now, could you help me, please?” He took a pendulum out of his pocket. John looked at him indignantly.  
“You didn't!... It's Mrs. Hudson pendulum! Besides you can't use it.”  
“It will show us if there had been something evil going on in here.” The mage looked at John calmly and handed him the pendulum over the dead body. “And I had stolen this so it will not work for me but it will for you.” He stared at John when the exorcist looked at him with hesitation. “I'll tell you what to do.”  
John sighed and took the pendulum gently. He knew very well what to do, he saw Mrs. Hudson moving the small, silver ball over the table, also his grandmother used to use one. He took the chain and started with woman's legs moving his hand up over her body. The pendulum was perfectly still until he reached her head, then it started to move in circles. He tried once and then again, his hand was steady but the pendulum was still moving.  
“Told you!” Sherlock – who stayed calm until now – jumped to his feet. “Lestrade!”  
The man came in.  
“And? Do you have anything? We don't have time, my people...”  
“Why did you call me, Lestrade?” Sherlock looked up at the DI.  
“You know why, this is third murderer like this in a row: no blood, no suspects, a victim in a random place, poison. It looks like something magical.”  
“Are you sure that the poison did not kill them?”  
“No, but...” The DI looked at them helplessly. “I don't know what could have killed them.”  
“A spell of course.” Sherlock leaned over the body again. “So you were right, it is a magic thing.”  
Lestrade sighed and rubbed his eyes. He did not look like someone very surprised, John thought. He leaned over the body and sniffed, the air smelled of oil and something strong, some kind of salve. He frowned.  
“What do you think?” Sherlock looked at him.  
“Definitely not a possession, most likely a ritual. I would say a summon...” he looked at her temple. “But I don't know which demon...”  
Sherlock raised to his feet again. “A circle, Lestrade” he asked. “Did you find the circle?”  
“What circle?”  
John looked at him. “Painted with chalk” he explained. “Or blood, I'm not sure. Somewhere in this room, with spells inside and outside.”  
Sherlock started walking around looking at the floor. Lestrade looked around too, messing his grey hair in confusion. He was never happy seeing Holmes at the crime scene but he needed him. Desperately.  
“Something like this?” he asked, coming to the wall and showing at half wiped off red-white circle.  
“Yes!” Sherlock came to him and looked at the wall closely. “They had sacrificed her life for a demon” he said to himself reading the spells.  
John took the woman's hand and prayed for her. It was Sherlock's job to find out about the spell, and this was his job to help the victim's soul.  
“Oh, leave her and come here!” Sherlock said with irritation. He took a closer look and before John finished his prayers and before he even came up to the mage, Sherlock was in the doorway and hurried downstairs.  
Watson stopped in the middle of the room with surprise. Three people came inside with the stretcher to take the body. Lestrade cleared his throat and John looked at him ashamed.  
“Well, I think I can go now... There is nothing more for me to do...” he offered and the DI nodded.  
John walked out of the room trying to catch Sherlock but as he walked out onto the street the detective was not there any more.  
„He left” the woman said. She was standing on the pavement looking at him with pity. „He never waits. Be careful.”  
He turned to her and nodded but then he turned again and looked around. The street was quiet, there was no sign of any cabs.  
„Um...” he looked at her again. „Do you know where can I find a cab?”  
She walked to him and pointed to the end of the street. „Try there. I suppose there should be something. And, doctor Watson” she added when he started to walk. „Don't believe him. He's a mad man, and one day...” she lick her lips. „One day he'll do something terrible to prove he's right about this whole spooky thing.”  
John looked at her for a second then nodded and walked away. She was lucky not believing in what they were doing. What Sherlock was doing of course. He had nothing to do with it, he was just... living with him, cleaning his flat, maybe even cooking... But this was not his thing. He was suppose to protect Sherlock, mostly from himself.


	3. III. Dream and Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the third chapter is here! Enjoy.

III. Dream and Magic

 

The way home was long and when John finally caught the cab it was bloody cold and very late. He spent his last money on the ride and the only thing he found was an empty flat. Sherlock was not there or he did not come back yet. Mrs Hudson was already asleep so he did not wake her up. After a shower and change he made himself a cup of tea and sat down in the armchair to rest and wait for Sherlock. 

He did not know he was asleep until he heard silent steps. He looked around – huge, empty warehouse, no lights, no sounds. A dream then. Maybe a vision. 

“Good evening, doctor Watson” he heard from behind and he turned around. There was a tall man in a posh suit, looking at him with a smile. He was leaning on an umbrella and he was watching John carefully. Something in this gaze was familiar. 

“Who are you?” 

“I'm... an old friend of your new friend – Sherlock Holmes” the man said with a smile straightening. “And I would like to ask you what your connection to him is.”

John frowned. “What? There is no connection... And this... This is my dream” he looked around. He knew this place, not a warehouse, a hangar. 

“Indeed and I'm a visitor here. You see” the man took a few steps to the right and then he turned around to walk back. “I'm rather curious because you've just met and yet you live with him, helping him and he even takes you to the crime scene... As you see” he looked straight at John. “I'm very well informed.” 

“I assure you, it's none of your business what I'm doing with Sherlock. And I can push you out of here any minute.”

“But you won't. I came to your dream, you know I'm a witcher but you did not push me away. Why? Because you're curious, doctor Watson. That was the reason you stayed with Sherlock. That's the reason you've become an exorcist. Somewhere deep inside, you know very well that it wasn't the need to help your sister only a deep, sinful curiosity.”

“Who are you?!” John clenched his fists. “You have no right!...” 

“Of course I have” the man came closer to him. “I want you to tell me in what kind of a relationship you're with Sherlock Holmes. Also I may help you with your finances. As far as I know you're in rather big troubles, aren't you?” 

“I want you to get out of here” John said trying to stay calm. “I don't know who are you, but...”

The man laughed politely and hang the umbrella on his forearm. “Give me your hand, doctor Watson” he asked standing in front of him.

“What for?” John frowned but the man did not answer, he just waited. And after a long moment he reached towards the stranger. 

“You see?” the witcher's hands were smooth and cool but not unpleasant. “I just asked you and you did it. Dear doctor, your curiosity will kill you one day” he smiled. John took two steps back. “The thing is that you don't want me to leave, not with your whole heart...”

There was a sound of an aeroplane coming. John looked around with surprise and just then realised that it is something from outside his dream. He looked at the man again. 

“I'll see you later, doctor Watson” the witcher nodded and walked away like an obscure parody of Mr Tumnus. 

John opened his eyes only to see Sherlock standing over him impatiently. 

“Finally, I was wondering if you will wake up ever again. Are you ready?” he said taking a step back. 

John sat up and rubbed his eyes. 

“Ready for what?” he asked yawning. 

“Solving a case!”

“What do you mean?” John shook his head. The memory of his dream was strong and he still felt the witcher's hands on his. 

“I got the pictures from the police! Come here and take a look!” he said going to the kitchen. 

“Have you even slept?” John asked standing up slowly, he stretched, yawned and almost turned to the kitchen when he noticed a book. It was laying on the shelf, just where he had seen it in his vision. Dark violet cover and no title. He did not hear what was Sherlock's answer – if there was any – he hurried to the shelf to grab the book. Yes, it was real, the book wasn't there before or maybe he did not notice it? But now it was there and he had to read it. To learn this spell... He slowly went back to the couch and sat down opening the book. 

The pages were written in hand with black ink. There were illustrations and John brushed his fingers against the colourful pages. He could feel the magic inside. 

John, lost in his thoughts, jumped when Sherlock threw pictures at the coffee table. He shut the book and raised his head. 

“Look at her lips, John!” Sherlock seemed not to notice the book. “There is no lipstick! Why?”

The mage asked stopping in front of John. The exorcist blinked. 

“Maybe she didn't use it?” he offered not sure. 

“You are ridiculous, John. Look at her nails, the colour matched her coat. Look at her boots! Everything looks perfect except for her lips. Why? Think!” he leaned over the table in John's direction resting his hands on the table. 

“Well...” the exorcist frowned. “Someone wiped it off?” 

“Exactly!” Sherlock grinned happily straightening. “And why?” 

“Really, Sherlock. I thought you're the one...”

“A kiss, John! Someone kissed her or at least touched her lips.” He walked around the room. “But why? Tell me, why!” he turned to John. 

The exorcist frowned forgetting about the book for now. He bit his lower lip wondering for a moment. 

“Do you have pictures of the circle?” he asked. 

“Only a drawing.” Sherlock hurried to the table and picked up one paper. John placed the book on the couch and leaned over the table to see the drawing.

“Look” he showed the sign written in the middle of the circle. “This one is a trap. It would tie her soul. They took it from her as you said but they did not give it to _someone_ , they kept it... Here” he pointed the double line. “Here is a tin. They would use it. I don't know what it is. Look, those are summons spell, this one is for angels... The soul keeper... but this” he showed a small sign on the right site “I don't know what's that.” He raised his eyes to Sherlock who was watching him carefully. “Does it help you?” 

Sherlock watched him carefully with his fingers near his lips. He nodded slowly, John felt a strange heat when he saw those eyes fixed on him. He remembered them very well, and suddenly he realised that he had not had another journey after he moved in with Sherlock. The nights were rarely quiet because the young mage liked to work late – to tell the truth he liked to work all the time, especially when he discovered that John had all the knowledge which seemed to be boring or dull for Sherlock – so often they were sitting in the living room until deep night. 

He also never saw Sherlock asleep, the mage seemed not to need any food or rest. Sometimes he just sat down in the kitchen, working on some 'experiment' and it was like some kind of rest for him. At least John thought so. 

Sherlock stayed quiet and John shook his head. The mage was watching him. 

“You were thinking about me” he said and John felt that he was blushing. 

He wanted to deny it but he only sighed. 

“Yes. How do you know?” he asked stupidly but he liked to see this boyish smile on Sherlock's face. 

“You were thinking about my sleeping habits, about my work and that I'm not eating.” 

John laughed. 

“Okay, that's amazing, but how do you know? Can you read my mind?” he asked hoping that Sherlock just deduced things as always. 

“Of course not, John. You are an exorcist, you should be able to protect your mind. You were looking at the bags under my eyes, then at my hands and then at my stomach. And when I said that you were thinking about me, you blushed. You are easy to read, John.”

John nodded with a weak smile, Sherlock took the pictures and walked to his room. The exorcist sighed reaching for the book and opened it searching for a right page – it was marked with someone's handwriting, a 'remember' written with green ink at the top of the page. He looked at the door of Sherlock's room and biting his lower lip, he started to read. 

 

 

John was never good at magic, he knew something but he was always more focused on the other side. Some people he knew tried both sides, the 'black' and the 'white' one, he believed that there are no sides, it's only magic. Now he read the spell over and over again and tried to remember it. It was written in Latin – not a big problem – needed blood – also not a problem – but it had to kill a man – and John never killed a man before. He had always tried to protect them. 

Closing the book some time later he promised himself that he would try to save this man in every possible way. Maybe it was only about exorcism, maybe it would be enough. He left the book on the table and looked around. The room was silent and John tensed. It was too silent. He stood up and went to Sherlock's room. He knocked – it was never safe just to come in without an invitation – but there was no answer. He pushed the handle and the door opened. John looked inside – the room was dark and empty – and he hissed because he felt something evil. He turned the lights on and came inside carefully. Sherlock promised that he would give back everything what was evil or could possess him. So now when he found the letter on Sherlock's desk he clenched his fists. 

But the note was short 'Follow me' written on a piece of paper. John felt the cold shiver down his spine. He hurried out from the room. 

“Sherlock!?” he called but he was almost certain that the mage was not here anymore. He went to the kitchen and stopped suddenly. There was mess everywhere, a bowl full of blood stood on the table, John came closer and looked inside it. Sherlock must have done a spell here. But what kind? He looked around but there was no book. A dead chicken, a knife but no recipe. 

He touched the bowl lightly but there was no vision. He rarely could cause them, usually it just happened. 'What now?' John thought looking around. 

He felt sick, he lost him. Lost Sherlock before anything happened, and now... He would die... Like in the vision. He closed his eyes and tried again. He wanted a vision, he _needed_ it. And when it came, he grabbed the table to stop himself from falling. 

John saw himself with a knife, cutting his hand and then running away. He opened his eyes breathing heavily. The knife was here, lying next to the bowl and feathers. The edge of a long blade was covered with blood and John – without thinking, really – grabbed it and cut the inside of his hand mixing his blood with the one that was already there. 

He felt strange, a bit dizzy, but he was still standing. He was not sure what did just happened, he left the knife and looked around. The kitchen seemed the same so where was the reason for him to run out? The blood in the bowl also looked the same as before. But when he turned his head he felt something warm inside. Something like a little dot of heat and this must have been Sherlock. The dot moved when the mage was moving through London and John hurried after the track. 

 

 

Sitting in the back of a cab he was telling the driver where to go. He was not sure where was the track going until the very last moment so their ride was rather violent. The diver watched John in the rear view mirror with some kind of fear but he did not say anything. When they stopped by a library John paid the man – money were just in his pocket – and got out of the car. 

Strangely he knew this place: he was coming here often during his studies – there was a church nearby and he used to serve there as an altar boy. Now the room he saw in his vision – the reading room – seemed very familiar to him. He spend there a lot of time learning Latin. He ran into the building and upstairs, he knew the spell and he knew the place, there was no chance he would miss. He would save Sherlock. 

“Sherlock?!” he called out stopping by the empty corridor. He closed his eyes to focus – the warm dot was there, a bit higher than he was. Without hesitation he ran upstairs. 

 

Inside the magic cocoon everything around them was silent. Sherlock watched the man standing before him with some interest. This was not a typical mage, he was neither powerful nor talented. He just knew how to do some rituals. 

“You would like to know, wouldn’t you?” the other man asked. 

“You can tell me now or I will just use necromancy on you.” Holmes' voice was posh and self-confident. He shrugged because no, this would not be a big problem to him to talk to this man's dead head. 

The man laughed. 

“I'm not going to die here!”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, he stepped into the circle he knew was there, he literally let this man to catch him into this trap, but still, Sherlock was sure he could escape every minute. This was not that big. 

“Well, for now, you are just talking and talking. I did not see any magic except for this one” he pointed at the twirl of magic around them. 

“This is a gift, Sherlock Holmes” the man smiled

“A gift?” Sherlock repeated truly surprised.

“Oh yes. You see, bigger things are coming to town, if you stand against them you'll be destroyed. But if you join us, you will get every knowledge you want. This is a gift of power, Sherlock.” 

The young mage took a closer look at the spell again. “It does not look that powerful” he smirked. 

“I'm no one. But... How it was in the Bible? 'The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals1'. I'm no one, Sherlock, He won't even look at me again after I finish tonight. But you...” He took a step closer towards Sherlock. “You are someone He wants. He's your fan, you see, He's watching you all the time since you started with magic. He wants to help you.”

The stranger took out a long dagger and handed it to Sherlock. 

“You know I could just stab you and break the circle?” the mage asked but the man only smiled - which was both: irritating and thrilling. He examined the knife, the ritual one, long blade, signs on it, short hilt. He owed one himself, he even used it that evening. 

“You won't be one of many, Sherlock Holmes, there is another place for you, another path. Only He knows what you'll get.” 

“Who is 'he'? A devil? Some kind of pagan god?”

“No” the man's smile turned into a maniacal one. “He's the Antichrist himself” he said. 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows once again. Christian thing then. Dull. 

“No, I do not think so.” he turned away and took two steps in the direction of the edge of the circle. 

“You still have my dagger” the man said with a smirk. Sherlock looked at his hand surprised. “Are you sure you don't want to think it over? That might be a great opportunity for you to get great power. Maybe even great enough to beat Him?” 

Sherlock smirked turning around. “You are not very loyal, aren't you?” he asked. “You see, this is not the way I think. If I wanted power I would get it anyway.”

“Oh, but you want to find out who my master is...” 

“Some kind of Demon I presume” the young mage looked at the man “He is from the fourth or even the third choir. High rank but he is young. Your power is based on two books, I have read as a teen so you did not get much of trust or he wanted me to believe he is weak but then he would never want me to come. He was once a man, otherwise he would never act that carefully.” Sherlock smiled. “But this is obviously something you do not know about.” 

“If he could become a demon - as you said - them why not you?”

Sherlock had to admit that this demon had chosen wisely. This man was smart enough to keep Sherlock still inside the circle, still interested. Holmes smiled. He looked at the blade in his hand. He did not like permanent decisions, he liked to have a choice but with the whole power. Besides he was sure there was a way to deceive this demon, there was always something. He raised his hand and brought the blade to it. 

 

John stopped immediately when he ran to the reading room. The right one. Sherlock and the killer were standing in the middle of a spell looking like a hurricane. John scoffed. He might as well be on the other side of the country, they would not hear him. The spell he learnt was not useful if he was not about to risk Sherlock's life. 

Holmes' presence calmed him a bit. The urgent need of being _near_ disappeared and John could think straight. He could not get Sherlock's attention because they were locked safe inside - Sherlock and this maniac - they probably didn't see him even. And judging by Sherlock's expression he wanted to do something stupid. John had only one chance and it was all about his aim. But Sherlock was now standing with a knife to his hand, ready to cut himself and John could not risk any longer.

John took a deep breath and focusing on the other man he said it, calmly because he finally could remember it, with strength he learnt during the exorcisms. And he felt it – this magic, this power he never wanted to feel. The spell hit the man and he flew over the room crushing against the wall. The spell they were standing in broke and Sherlock cried with fury and hurried towards the killer. 

John leaned over the wall, feeling dizzy and sick. He took two step back, he saw Sherlock leaning over the body, shouting at it, starting the necromancy ritual - which was insane and on every other occasion John would stop him but now he felt the hit and the cold and he just sat down in the corridor trying to catch his breath. 

He could not see that the moment he almost fainted Sherlock suddenly stood up leaving the body and hurried to him. John opened his eyes just when he felt Sherlock's presence so close that he could touch him. And he actually did, reached to touch the mage's coat, breathed shakily, still shocked after what he had done. 

Sherlock awkwardly put his hand on John's shoulder, more focused on John's reaction then on the scene around them. He noticed the police sirens of course but he did not moved, until John took a deep breath and stood up. Just then Sherlock raised and looked at the exorcist with some anger. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“Came to save you...” Watson ran his hand through his hair, it tickled lightly. “You okay?” 

Sherlock was standing in front of him, watching him carefully and nodded slowly. He moved his fingers unwittingly wondering about something. 

“Go, you must be gone before Lestrade comes here” he said, shaking his head. 

“What about you?” 

“I will clean this.” 

But before they could go out, they heard footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock frowned and took John's forearm. The exorcist found himself rather flattered by his touch but he was still not well so he let himself lean against the mage lightly. The heat inside his head raised again when Sherlock came so near. 

The mage walked out of the reading room. They passed the police, Lestrade and Donovan but they did not noticed the two men. No one did. They left the crime scene, Holmes walking John slowly down the dark stairs, and then out of the building. He was holding John's arm until they did not turn right leaving the crime scene. When the red-blue lights disappeared and it became quieter Sherlock let go of John's hand and put his hands in his pockets. He walked down the street when they heard the voice from behind. 

“That wasn't nice, Sherlock, you should have stay and talk to poor Detective Inspector” 

John turned immediately ready to do whatever would be necessary to protect Sherlock. He saw the same posh man who came into his dream. 

“A witcher!” 

“This is my brother.” Sherlock said without any surprise. 

“What?!” 

“Oh, you haven't told him?” the witcher pretended to be surprised politely. “Yes, you see, Sherlock is a member of an old, magic talented family. But you wouldn't care anyway, would you?”

“Mycroft, do you know anything about this Moriarty fellow?” Sherlock frowned looking at his brother.

“No, but I would like to remind you about Watson's lack of money. And please, tell DI Lestrade that I appreciate his work when you meet him” 

John was standing with an open mouth watching the two of them. This conversation was far beyond his reach, he could barely understand what were they were talking about. 

And Mycroft turned back and walked slowly away, disappearing in the shadows. John turned to Sherlock who was still standing in the same place. He did not understand a single thing. 

“Is he really your brother?”

“Yes.” The young man turned around and walked in the direction of the cabs. 

“And will you talk to Lestrade?”

“Eventually” he answered but a moment later he looked at John with a grin. “I see I caused a miracle!”

“What miracle?” John asked even more confused at the moment. 

“Your leg” Sherlock pointed out. 

Just then John realised he did not have his cane. He ran through London without a limp. He grinned back feeling like the heat in his head was growing up. He started to laugh. 

“Oh no, now you'll be unbearable!” 

“Of course not, John. It is just proving my point.”

“Which is?”

“There is nothing I cannot do!” 

John shook his head getting into cab. 

“See? It has already started.” 

 

1Mark 1:7


End file.
